


Red Boy

by VerySunnyDay



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Community: homesmut, Dream Bubbles, F/M, Object Insertion, Other, Sadism, Self-Hatred, Somnophilia, Xenobiology, meteor journey, out-of-body self-defence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-23 01:00:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/920123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerySunnyDay/pseuds/VerySunnyDay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damara stumbles upon a golden opportunity to mess with a living, sleeping person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Your name is DAMARA MEGIDO and you hate existence itself.

But that's fine; it will all end soon enough. You get a certain amount of pleasure in knowing what the others refuse to believe, including the fact that they are as much pawns in the inevitable unwrapping of reality as you are. 

You get a certain amount of pleasure in other things as well. These new arrivals, remnants of a session only marginally less unsuccessful than yours, survivors of inter-species shenanigans and intra-team massacres – they interest you. At least they interest you in that one spot between your legs where you are still able to feel interest. That is to say, they turn you on.

You didn't plan on going here, but their meteor is physically passing through your bubble, and it would be a shame not to visit. It's unusual to feel solid matter around you for once rather than the ever-changing dreamscape, and you wanted to see the faces of the final game pieces gathering around the Lord of Time. You certainly didn't plan on finding one of them in such a deliciously vulnerable position, but you're not complaining at all. It would be a shame not to abuse the situation. You haven't fucked a living being in an eternity.

The boy is asleep on top of a pile of honk horns. He's breathing softly, regularly, completely out of it – a definitive proof that he is alive. The dead can curl up and close their eyes and relax, but their consciousnesses won't actually leave the building. No one can touch them without their knowledge, not that that always stops you. But this one is out of the house. You smirk and put your hand on the coarse black hair between his little nubby horns. He's the post-scratch version of Kankri's ancestor. So much for the better – his fluids will be a vicious, shameful red. Your smirk widens as a small glowing circle of simple time magic lights up to make sure he will stay in this state for a while. This is a rare opportunity, and you'll make sure to fuck this one to the last drop.

You don't bother to close the door, much less lock it. The human aliens were several rooms away – they won't hear you from there. And if someone should chance to come closer, well, that risk makes a good fuck all the more worth it. You actually hope that someone will come. They can't destroy you – nothing can destroy you except the Lord of Time himself, and sadly he won't before the moment is right. But in the best case scenario, the intruder will fuck you right back with hatred in their eyes. Ah, but that would be something.

You turn your attention back to the boy. He's already lying face down on a pile, which is a position you like. You pull his head up by the hair to look at his face. A few of the horns honk from the movement, but it doesn't disturb you. You like how the boy looks so very much like Kankri. You've wanted to shove your bulge into Kankri's blabbing mouth since before you all died.

You start by slapping him. It results in an interesting reddish blush on his cheek. You slap his other cheek, and then the first and then the second, again and again, until your own hand stings and his face is gray-red and starting to bruise. Much better. If he's going to be helpless, he should look it, too. Your bulge is writhing already and you're not about to deny it the pleasure it can have so freely here, so you pull up your skirt and remove your underwear and shove your bulge in between his lips. The boy's mouth is warm and wet and alive and it doesn't matter that it's unresponsive – that gives your bulge the freedom to wriggle and explore every damp cranny inside. It's better than you imagined. You're oral fucking a living creature and he doesn't even know it. Your tip reaches down, teasing his throat, but not too far. 

His teeth are nice and sharp, and you use your hand to guide his jaw to clamp down just a little bit on your bulge, pricking it just enough for the right tension. You're moaning now, grinding against his face. His body trembles slightly, like it knows something untoward is going on, but it can't wake up. The tremble excites you more, your bulge wrapping itself around his tongue, and you're already close to coming. This is _good_. You grab his little horns and shove yourself down his throat as far as you can reach. He shudders around you and then you do come, your genetic material released through the seedflap between your legs and running uselessly down to soil the horn pile.

You grin, pulling out slowly. Your bulge is limp, but you slap it against the boy's little Kankri nose a couple of times, producing a wet noise. You don't care about your genetic material. It's as dead as you are, and will be gone when the meteor leaves the bubble where you exist. You wonder if he'll have time to see it. It would be good if he does.

Oral was satisfying, but not half as satisfying as the next part should be. You rearrange your skirt but don't bother putting on the underwear. The sleeping boy has a nice ass. It's tighter than Kankri's, perhaps even tighter than Rufioh's, but there's too much clothing covering it. You reach around his waist and unzip his pants, pulling pants and underwear down to reveal it in all its gray, firm glory. You run your spent bulge down his buttcrack, feeling a slight stirring in it return. Encouraged, you bend forward and bite him, putting your teeth in his buttocks to break skin and get the first good look at the bright mutant red. His body makes a nondescript sound at being punctured. It's pleasant.

You have to bend down and rip his shoes off first in order to get his pants off completely, but you have to get rid of them so that you can properly enjoy him. Once done you sink down on the horn pile between his legs with a multitude of honks, spreading his thighs wide. You run your finger down his crack and over his asshole, nook, seedflap, and the base of the bulge. You like it, but it's not enough.

You should spank him. Looking around for something to use, your eyes fix on a few glass bottles on the table in the corner. You smile. Oh, yes, that should excite you.

The largest of the bottles is almost as large as a troll baseball bat, and you bring it down on his ass two handed, as hard as you can muster. The boy's body grunts in pain. It's trembling again, wanting to wake up, but it won't. You hit his ass again. And again. And again. On the fifth strike the bottle shatters, and his body twitches hard. You laugh, throwing the piece left in your hand away in a corner. The boy's ass is flaming in bruised red under the gray now. That's much better. The bottle broke relatively cleanly, but the edge did scratch him, drawing some blood. It's very red, and you notice a couple of glass shards in the little wounds. You decide you'll tell Kankri about this later. He won't understand the details, but he'll get enough to be nicely horrified. 

You pull out all the shards that you can see, then start twirling your fingers to make patterns on his ass in his own blood. Your bulge is starting to writhe again. You are actually having a good time.

Your finger finds his nook. It's dry, like he hasn't actually appreciated any of this. Well, he doesn't have to. You run your fingers around edges of the hole, then push two inside, wriggling around. You don't bother to be gentle with your claws, and there are red stains on them when you pull out. He's so tight. He really _needs_ to be fucked, but you're not quite ready yet. You pick a horn out of the pile, press the bulb down with a honk and then push it backwards up his nook. The shape is awkward, but you shove it in all the way until only widest part of the mouth of it is outside. His body whines softly in protest. Not enough. You smirk and punch his nook with your fist. The horn goes further in.

You continue by running your fingers up to his asshole. You should put something in there, too. It's tight and ugly like assholes tend to be, but everyone should be fucked anal at some point. You shove a single clawed finger inside with some effort and wriggle around. His body twitches in protest again. You want it to twitch more, so you push another finger inside and force the hole open. Your other hand is used to produce one of your cigars. It would have been a waste, but they're not actually real which means they're a renewable resource. You stick it up his asshole until only the end is visible. Good. Maybe you will light it right before you leave.

You're almost ready to fuck him again, to pail him properly this time. You knead his bruised buttocks and lick the drying red blood from his ass, then reach around between his legs to touch his bulge. It's slack and inactive and the boy's body whimpers when you pinch it hard between your claws. But that's enough; now it's time to play nice. His bulge responds to your fingers well enough when you run them slowly and carefully up and down its curves. It doesn't take long before it curls hungrily around your hand. He wants you after all. Everyone does.

You're going to fuck him so hard. You can't keep his nook blocked for that, so you reach in with your free hand and rip the horn out. You don't bother to be gentle. The boy's body yelps and his bulge almost goes slack again, but it only needs a little caressing to be back to squirming. Your own bulge is almost too eager by now, threatening to wriggle out of control. It feels amazing.

You turn the boy around on his back. The horns honk violently, and even more when you push him down to lie with his groin on the top of the pile and his head down towards the floor. You bend down and open his mouth, putting the horn from his nook in there. You take care to close his jaw and lips carefully around it. He'll taste himself with a honk when he wakes up.

When you climb up on the pile to a cacophony of honking noise, you can barely contain yourself. You squat over the boy's hips, messily allowing your bulge to find his nook. A groan of pleasure escapes you when you find that although his nook definitely isn't as wet as it could be, his bulge finds your nook willingly enough. It's so easy with a sleeper. You grin and start to fuck him viciously, grinding your hips against his as your bulge wriggles violently in his nook and his moves around somewhat less enthusiastically but still pleasantly in yours. His body moans with you, more accepting than denying your touch now. Your bulges are entwined in the middle and for a mere moment, grinding yourself against him and inside him and around him you can lose yourself in pleasure and almost forget the emptiness that is your unlife.


	2. Chapter 2

Your name is KARKAT VANTAS and you may not be sure about existence in general, but you definitely hate your life.

Especially when paradox space conspires to keep showing you in new ways how much of a shitstain on the fabric of reality you are. It's not enough that you hatched as a red-blooded mutant, or that you were responsible for making a botch-up of your game session – poisoned your universe frog, failed to open its fucking door and then let your friends kill each other around you. But now you're thrown out into a sweeps-long journey through a vomit-inducing void on a meteor inhabited by your few surviving friends including your murderous asshole clown of a moirail and two of the most appalling aliens you had the idiocy to create. The latest indignity is meeting your team's alternate universe ancestors and learn that they are completely insufferable assholes every single one of them and especially yours.

And. You have a feeling in your gut that something else is happening to you personally right now, and you should fucking wake up already.

You're out in the dream bubble exploring the memory of your old neighborhood and trying to avoid talking too much to anyone in particular when you first feel it. Some kind of rotten taste in your mouth. You assume it's just your inexplicably vivid imagination telling you that you're a shiteating fuckass, but it still makes you want to wake up. Unfortunately, the awakening trick you have mastered over more than a sweep of lucid dreaming chooses this moment to fail.

Fortunately, the meteor is passing through this dream bubble physically right now, and you can go back to it without having to wake up. Or you could, except direction and distance in dream bubbles are concepts that get your think pan in a twist, and you go in the wrong direction twice before you get a grip. 

You start running. Something _hurts_. Something inside you feels _dirty_. You can't identify it, and it's probably nothing, or else it's one of your so-called friends deciding to play you a well-deserved prank, and they'll laugh their asses off when you come storming in all flustered like a fool wiggler. But you still can't shake the feeling that something is very wrong, and you can't stop yourself from hurrying.

Rose and Dave are awake as you pass the common room. The former is occupied making human beverages out of odds and ends and the latter is mumbling endlessly in more or less entirely incomprehensible rhymes. You hurry past them without a word, but it still calms you a bit that they're so _normal_. For a certain nonsensical value of normal. If it weren't for the fact that every step closer to your sleeping body makes the vague phantom pain more obvious, you'd convince yourself you're imagining things.

You hear moans and rhythmical, absurd honking before you reach the door. Someone is moving on top of the pile. _please let it be Gamzee please let it be Gamzee_

You don't think it's Gamzee. But someone is there, that much is clear.

You're suddenly terrified to know. But the door to your little sleeping block isn't even closed, and you don't allow yourself to hesitate before going inside.

The sight freezes your ugly mutant bloodpusher to ice.

There's a girl there. A girl you don't know. A girl you don't know _pailing your sleeping body_. And as if seeing it makes it real, you feel the ghost of the sensation in your genitals; her violently writhing bulge chafing your nook to the point of agony and your bulge reflexively trying to keep up in her nook but unable to take it much longer. She's using you like a _thing_ , intent on her own pleasure and nothing else.

Your first reaction is a step backwards. She hasn't noticed your dream phantom yet. She thinks you're completely out of it, and that's the way she likes it, because obviously it's too much to ask for anyone to have actual concupiscent feelings for you. Red or black, you're too unworthy to be fucked, except apparently when you're unconscious. This is more than you deserve, isn't it?

Humiliation creeps up your throat, making you feel sick. You can't take it. You _can't_. You blink away tears from your eyes and think about absconding. You could get the fuck out of here and come back when she's done and you could pretend it never happened. You wouldn't have to face her when she's degrading you. But your body is making small whimpering noises under her moans, and you know it's not from pleasure but from painful overstimulation – and you have to _use_ that body later. Who knows how long she'll stay at it anyway. She might decide to cut open your stomach and fuck your guts for all you know. You have to protect yourself – no one else will.

You throw yourself at her and rip her away from your sleeping body, throwing her down on the floor. She lands on her back and seems surprised for a moment, but then she smiles wickedly. Her skirt is upturned to expose her still wriggling bulge, and as if the violence was exactly what she needed, a pool of rust brown genetic material starts to form on the floor under her seedflap.

_Aradia_. She has Aradia's face and color, but fuck it, you _like_ Aradia. This is one of them nookstain grub-biting ancestor ghosts, with white dead eyes full of lust – hell, she still wants _more_! She's looking up at you with a mocking smile, clearly undressing you with her eyes, and god, you don't think you've ever hated anyone this much in your entire life. And you're still not turned on. You're the opposite of turned on. Maybe there really is something wrong with you quadrantically.

"What in all the grubfucking hells of the furthest ring do you think you're doing!?" you yell, trying to salvage at least a fragment of dignity through fury. "You're uglier than the multitude of stains on the carpet of a grub that hasn't been trained to the load gaper and your lusus obviously never introduced you to the concept of concupiscence or manners or basic decency so maybe you've never heard this before, but you're a fucking nookstain piece of ghost matter on the face of paradox space and a disgrace to the memory of the troll race."

She seems unbothered. She doesn't even adjust her skirt to cover her slackening bulge, but only gets up on her elbows and smirks, then says something in a smug tone.

You don't understand her. What the fuck is up with that?? You understand everyone else perfectly well, aliens and ghosts and whatever the fabric of reality throws at you, but this one gets to humiliate you and use you and then spout gibberish.

She reaches down with a hand to stroke her own bulge, speaking again. 

You kick her in the crotch. "Get out of my sight!"

But no. She gasps as if the kick turns her on again, and her smile only grows wider. She says something else undecipherable, rising slowly from the floor and touching your leg.

You shirk back. _Hell no._

She reaches for you again, moving her bulge close to yours and whispering throatily in those words you can't understand. You punch her in the face, and she stumbles backwards, almost falling into the horn pile.

"I can't understand a fucking word you're saying but unless you're as much of a fucking moron that you seem to be that had better be an apology or better yet an assurance that I'm never going to see you again. Get out!"

"Yesss," she hisses, and this time you can understand her, but she doesn't seem to have understood you. "You hate me. Little red dreamer boy." She lurches forward, and you almost think she's going to punch you back, but instead she throws her arms around you. "Fuck me." She bites your neck, fangs digging into your skin, and maybe it _is_ sexy, but no.

"No. No no no no no no no hell no." You try to get her off you, but she clings with claws and teeth, and your effort gets you both down on the floor, you on top of her.

"I fuck you," she says smugly, glancing meaningfully at the still sleeping body on top of the pile. "You fuck me."

You hate her, but all you feel in your guts is disgust and horror. Some voice inside you insists that you should want her – she wants _you_ , and it's not like anyone else does. She's already had you, so much more reason that you should want to return the favor with passionate hatred. But the idea only makes you feel sick. The idea that she _already pailed you_ makes sick. She's so smug, like she owns you, like you're a fucking fuck doll for her, and you just want her to _be gone_. "No!" you yell, punching her again because you can.

"Ohhh," she says, grinning. "You punch good. Red boy."

Fuck no. You scramble to get off her and to your feet. "Go away!" you shout. "Get out! Get lost! Disappear!"

The ghost girl sighs theatrically, but rises to her feet and finally adjusts her skirt. "Well," she says. "I leave." She makes a suggestive gesture. "Return later."

She does leave, and you can't close and lock the door behind her fast enough. Your heart is beating like Dave's human music mixer, or at least your dream phantom's heart is. The next thing you know everything shifts around you, and you're opening your eyes from an awkward upside-down perspective on the horn pile. You're waking up.

And you wish to hell and back that you hadn't. Everything hurts. Your face stings, your butt stings worse, your nook is sore like she put a claw in it and tore it up before fucking you. You bet she actually did. Your bulge feels exhausted like after a marathon masturbation session. Even your asshole hurts somehow, and there's something large and hard and foul-tasting in your mouth. You shiver too violently to move for longer than you'd care to admit.

When you finally gain enough control of your limbs to slide down from the pile, you only go so far as to curl up around yourself on the floor, trying to assess the damage. You manage to twist the horn - a fucking honk horn! – from your mouth and throw it away as far as you can. Your left buttock is bleeding from some wound. You wonder if you're literally shitting yourself, because your ass aches so much and feels stuffed, until you realize that the ghost put something inside your asshole as well. You pull it out the best you can, but it's dry and chafing and you're not sure all of it comes out. It's a motherfucking cigar, and you barely glance at it before throwing it so hard that it bounces against the far wall.

You should get up and get an ablution. You should get up, period. Instead, you hug your knees and quietly curse that ghost girl with every profanity you can think up. Your nook feels stretched and torn and sore enough to fill up your guts with aching pain. It was your first time. You bet you deserved it somehow.

She said she'd be back. You briefly consider asking someone to stand guard over your body the next time you sleep. But no, you can't. They'd ask why, and you'd have to explain this. Tell Dave or Rose or Kanaya or goddamn Terezi that a complete stranger came into your block and played with your body like a wiggler with a toy. _You can't_. You can't even tell Gamzee, and he's your moirail. This is too disgusting.

You managed six hundred hours without sleep back in the game. You can manage the rest of this meteor trip awake, too. It's not a problem. 

You force yourself to rise and go find your pants.


End file.
